


The Interview

by SlothSpaghetti



Series: Sleepless In Stark Towers [6]
Category: Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, College Life, Cyberbully, Developing Relationship, F/M, Fluff, Late night US talk show mentioned, Peter is plotting, Peter is smarter than people give him credit for, Social Media, an attempt at humor, mention of self harm, street art
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-18
Updated: 2020-10-18
Packaged: 2021-03-09 04:08:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,647
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27078595
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SlothSpaghetti/pseuds/SlothSpaghetti
Summary: Really wasn't sure what else to put in the tag. This was just a fluffy piece to build up some drama for future sections.I don't say this enough, but your kudos and comments give me life. Thank you for reading this trainwreck. 💙
Relationships: Tony Stark/OFC, Tony Stark/Reader
Series: Sleepless In Stark Towers [6]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1965925
Comments: 6
Kudos: 112





	The Interview

Consciousness came in waves. I’d wake up, eyes not really seeing anything but black before warmth would drag me back under. My back was pressed up against something soft and something so addictively warm was wrapped around my front. It was so easy to just let sleep take me, guide me through the darkness to the comforting dreamland I had created. 

“This is the cutest thing I’ve ever seen, even cuter than smol Stevie.”

“Is it okay for them to sleep for so long?”

“Queens you’re the youngest, you wake them up.”

“What? No.”

I squeezed my eyes shut tighter, trying to block out the voices. I must have forgotten to put my earplugs in last night. The girls had a habit of bringing just anyone into our room whenever they wanted, regardless of napping. My head was pounding, dehydration and caffeine deficiency taking its toll on my body. One of my eyes cracked open enough to recognize the form of Peter. 

“Petey-Pie, get outta my room,” I mumbled, trying to roll away from him, but getting trapped in the warmth of my blanket. 

“So this is your room?” A deep, teasing male voice asked.

“Yeah, it’s my fuckin’ room, douchebag,” I raised my middle finger out of the blanket.

“I’m pretty sure this Stark’s living room.”

It took a moment for those words to sink in, to really worm their way into my sleeping brain. I was definitely laying on something that was close to the size of the bed in my dorm room. It was definitely warm enough to be my bed. My feet shifted, stretching out the kinks of sleep, and knocked against a second pair of feet. I squeezed my eye shut, willing this situation, this nightmare, to all be fake. Praying that if I closed my eyes hard enough, it would all fade away and my noisy roommates will be clattering about in our shared space. 

But that didn't happen.

"Jay, turn off the TV," Tony mumbled, scooting closer to me in his sleep, nuzzling his face into my hair.

I was in hell. The kinda place that takes your deepest fantasies and ruins them. Had I dreamt of waking up next to Tony? Abso-fucking-lutely. Was there ever an audience? Fuck no. I held in the small whimper trying to run over my lips. Here I was, braless, plastered up against the front of my wet dreams, feeling his semi-hard cock against me, and my cousin Spider-Man, Captain America, and the Winter Soldier were watching. 

"Sir, the TV isn’t on. Captain Rogers, Sergeant Barnes, and Master Parker are here. Also, Ms. Potts is trying to call you.”

I felt, more than I heard, Tony’s breathing stop. Suddenly there was no warm breath breezing over my hair, no steady rise and fall under my hands, just a man stiff as a board in all the wrong ways. 

“This is better than TV,” Bucky sounded too pleased.

Now, I was in hell. The Winter Soldier’s words jarred Tony awake enough for him to roll away. He fell onto the plush rug with a groan. I sat up, wary of the audience and my pounding head. Peter leapt onto the couch and pulled me into his arms, sticking himself to me, crushing me really. 

“You stupid meatball, I hate you for not answering your phone. Were you trying to give me a heart attack? God, I thought Aunt May was gonna kill me then kill you then kill me again. Thank you for not shaving your head, I was worried you do that. You’d really look like a meatball if you did that. Next time you go on a rampage, just invite me okay? We are supposed to be Godzilla together,” Peter was crying by the end of his rambling and I was trying to comfort him. 

“This is like a telenovela, Stevie threaten Stark for messing with Queens’ cousin,” Bucky urged his friend. 

“No, Jesus, Bucky, no more TV for you,” Steve frowned. 

“I’d like to point out,” Tony raised himself to a sitting position on the floor, “I am not 'messing' with anyone.”

“You coulda fooled us,” the Sergeant crossed his arms, a shit-eating grin spread across his face. 

That sparked an argument between the two brunets. Based on the expression donning Steve’s face, it was an argument he dealt with a lot. His two best friends making a mountain out of a molehill. Thankfully though, it provided enough cover for Peter and me to escape. 

“Pete,” I whispered.

“Huh?” His voice barely audible over the rising shouts of a genius and 100 year old man. 

“Remember when we visited for Christmas a few years ago?”

“Yeah.”

“Think you can recreate our escape?”

Peter looked at the grown-ass men in front of us arguing about lord knows what now because Bucky was saying every other word in Russian and Tony’s arms were waving about more than his mouth was moving. His eyes flicked to the balcony, where my backpack had been tossed next to the door. 

“Serious?”

“As a judge,” I nodded, locking my hands around him. 

“You will owe me extra big,” he smiled. 

Sure we weren’t 13 year olds trying to escape an argument between Aunt May and my mom. Sure it wasn’t just simply jumping down a fire escape. And sure I was leaving a pile of my clothes in the penthouse of a superhero-ing billionaire, but this seemed like the easiest way to get out of dodge. Headache and lack of bra be damned. I was past any measure of embarrassment now. JARVIS being the polite, butler-like computer he was, opened the door to the balcony just in time for Peter to rush through it. I scooped up my backpack, the many empty cans rattling, and gaining the attention of the other heroes. 

“Had a great time, please don’t call the cops,” I shouted as we leaped off the balcony into the sunny afternoon of Manhattan. 

∆∆∆∆∆∆∆∆∆∆∆∆

Peter landed behind one of the many nondescript office towers in the city. He set me on my feet, carefully swiping any cigarette butts or glass from the area. 

“You always just wear the suit?” I asked, looking at his covered face, wondering how I missed him sliding that on. 

“I don’t think I appreciate the judgment in your tone,” He responded, giving me a once over, placing his hands on his hips. 

“Sorry,” I placated the web slinger, holding my bag to my chest. “Thank you for rescuing me, Spider-Man.”

“It’s fine, I don’t like when they fight anyway,” Peter frowned, or I assumed he did. The mask made it a bit difficult to tell. 

“Now,” he grabbed my shoulders, “you are going to spill all the tea. I want every heckon drop.”

It took 15 minutes to tell Peter everything, well nearly everything. I left out the pathetic punishment I doled out on my thighs. To think that my 80-hour spiral could be boiled down to so little time. I guess I had classes that I did attend, Lord knew what those notes would look like. But my explanation to him had been detailed and without interruption and it took 15 minutes. Was my life so sad it would only take an hour to describe it all?

“It sounds really stupid now that I’ve said it all out loud,” I wiped a tear from the corner of my eye. 

“STUPID?!” Peter shook my shoulders, barely controlling himself. “That’s the most badass revenge ever! I’m still gonna web him up a flag pole and threaten to lay eggs in his brain, but I’m so glad he is outta our lives.”

“Can you really do that?”

“Ew, no, it's just a threat,” the masked scrunched up at Peter’s did.

“Okay, good, cause I’d have so many more questions.” I hugged Peter, feeling better than I had in days. 

“So why were you snuggling with Mr. Stark?”

“I told you, we fell asleep watching Netflix,” I pulled away from him, trying to keep a straight face. 

The black outlines on his mask squinted, surrounding the white before exploding around his face. 

“Omg,” he hissed.

“What?”

“OMG, OMG, OMG.”

“Pete…”

“YOU HAVE A CRUSH ON MR. STARK.”

A sleek black car honked behind us and Happy leaned out the driver’s side door. He did not look pleased with us. 

“Slim Shady, Kid, let’s go,” he shouted.

Peter wouldn’t stop staring at me the whole drive to my dorm. Whenever I would turn to make eye contact he would get giddy and bouncy and I would glare at him until he calmed down again. That was the game we played nearly the whole ride into Queens. It was suffocating, even with the air conditioning on full blast because apparently, the windows didn’t roll down in that damn car. 

“This doesn’t cover the IOU, bt-dubs, but who boy this is like the hottest tea of the century,” Peter gripped my arm, while Happy made eye contact with me through the rearview mirror. 

“What tea? Peter, I said no drinks in the car after the last incident.”

“You can’t even smell the Caprisun anymore, Happy,” he insisted. 

“It’s nothing,” I insisted in equal measures before raising the partition. 

“I’m so telling,” Peter’s eyes sparkled with joyous mischief. 

“Like fuck you are,” I hissed. “Doesn’t it gross you out?”

“Why because two people I love have crushes on each other?”

“What?” I asked him. 

“What, what?” He gave me a look like I was the one who just said something crazy. 

The car rolled to a stop and Happy lowered the partition. I stared at Peter a moment longer before I thanked Happy for the ride without breaking eye contact with my cousin. Even with his dumb puppy dogs eyes cranked up to 11, I could see he was plotting something. I slammed the car door and walked into my dorm. 

It wasn’t until later when I sat in the 24-hour cafe about a block from the art studio, working on homework, that I was forced to think about my situation with Tony again. Having spent the rest of the afternoon and early evening forcing myself to do work and not think about what happened at Stark Towers. In the corner opposite me in the cafe, some late-night talk show was playing. Their long, rambling opening monologue created a humming buzz of conversation in the otherwise empty cafe. There were a few other students with headphones on and shoulders slumped, studying for upcoming the midterms or procrastinating. The espresso maker hissed when the nasally host announced the guests, but I read the names that flashed up perfectly clear. 

“Captain Steve Rogers and Tony Stark, good evening, how are you doing?”

“We are good, Jimmy, happy to be here,” Tony smiled at the host.

He was wearing an expensive-looking charcoal suit with a Black Sabbath t-shirt underneath. A look I was pretty sure only he could pull off. His face was clean-shaven around his trimmed beard. He also wore his iconic blue lensed sunglasses. His hair looked so soft and fluffy, making me wonder even more if I had used his personal products last night. 

“Now, I gotta know, because the post went viral and it’s making international news,” Jimmy looked at Tony. “Who? What? When? Where? How?”

I saw Steve’s slight smirk before his eyes flicked to the always cool under the collar Tony Stark. 

“Well, there isn’t too much to tell. I was out for a test flight last night and happened upon an artist creating this series of work. I felt it was important that more people saw it because we don’t talk enough about what toxic relationships and cyberbullying are doing to young people today,” Tony spoke with practiced ease. 

“I couldn’t agree more,” Steve cut in, as if on cue, “I am amazed by both the talent you can find online, but also the amount of just visceral hate for no reason.”

“Here is the post we are talking about if you are just joining us,” Jimmy’s studio flicked away to a screenshot of Tony’s Instagram. 

A carousel of images, all of the graffiti I did, appeared on the screen before going back to the studio. I felt my world stop turning. This was it, this was how my life was going to end. Yeah, I had created public art, but I didn’t think it would get big. Maybe just inspire a few young people.  _ Oh god, what if people who know me see this? _

“Now, Tony, you said in the post that you hoped the artist realizes she deserves better, do you know them?”

“Yeah, the artist is a personal friend.” Tony nodded while Steve scoffed and I felt tears sting my eyes. “But I did promise not to turn them into the police,” he shrugged, garnering a laugh from the audience. 

“Captain Rogers, what was that?” Jimmy focused on Steve, who gave him a look. “You did a…” the host mimed his action. 

“Oh, well, I just think ‘friend’ is the wrong word.” That little shit-stirrer had the gale to smirk while the audience ooed. 

“He doesn’t know what he’s talking about, the man turned 100 this year,” Tony laughed it off but gave a not as subtle as he probably thought elbow to Steve’s side. 

The host huffed out a laugh but pushed further, “How long have you known this person? Is there a new Avenger we should be looking out for?”

“We aren’t in charge of recruitment, that would be Hawkeye,” Tony shifted in his chair adjusting his sunglasses. “But to answer your questions, I’ve not known them for very long. We met through a mutual friend.”

“Well before we go to our first commercial break, I’d just like to remind the people at home that there is always hope, and someone to talk to. You can call any of the numbers listed for free,” a list of mental health, suicide, and domestic abuse hotlines appeared on the screen. “And when we’re back we'll be discussing all things Stark Expo.”

I picked my phone up from where it sat between my Stark cup and Stark laptop, thinking hard about what that could possibly symbolize to me. There was nothing new happening on my Instagram, I had turned commenting off my posts after the initial incident a week ago. Still no reply from the Brooklyn artist, but that was to be expected. I typed Tony’s account name into the explore bar, something I had been avoiding doing for weeks because I wasn’t going to be a freaky internet stalker. 

His page was very much the Tony of the public eye.  _ You know who I am my butt, _ I found myself thinking. He didn’t follow anyone, so very him, despite having some 275 million people following his account. He had pictures of him post-mission in the Iron Man suit sat next to tired-looking Avengers, photos of him at fancy events accepting awards, and the very occasional picture of him, Dr. Bruce Banner, and Peter in just the Spiderman mask (like that was normal) working in the lab. The page seemed almost curated, but then again all social media was an act, a performance to the world. The only image that stood out, was my art on a dirty cinderblock wall. 

_ Even broken things deserve happy endings. _

I hit send on my comment, knowing it would get lost in the sea of comments he probably got on every post. To the surprise of the entire fucking universe, I got two notifications at once. Tony liked my comment and followed me. I stared at my phone for a moment, fist shoved against my face to hide the stupid smile on my face. When the commercial break ended, I watched the rest of their interview, Peter’s words from earlier pacing at the forefront of my mind. 

**Author's Note:**

> Really wasn't sure what else to put in the tag. This was just a fluffy piece to build up some drama for future sections. 
> 
> I don't say this enough, but your kudos and comments give me life. Thank you for reading this trainwreck. 💙


End file.
